free poem

the single clenched fist lifted and ready
high-born race
i saw the first pear
sadly speaking
there is an hour of peaceful rest
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
the pale day drowses on the western steep
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
long ago, in the young moonlight
do the boys and girls still go
i have heard them in the night
there is no flock, however watched and tended
in the cloud-gray mornings
under dusky laurel leaf